


You've got me (in the palm of your hand)

by crayyyonn



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Greg and Nick would have saved themselves a lot of time (and money) if they would just talk to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've got me (in the palm of your hand)

The first time they fucked hadn’t been in the men’s room of the bar, surprisingly. Instead, it had been in Nick’s bedroom with Nick pinning Greg up against the wall, Nick's cock thrusting almost punishingly into Greg. Almost, because though it was hard and fast and it hurt a little bit, it hadn’t been punishment. In light of all the crap they’d had to deal with during the past forty hours, it was by far one of the most cathartic fucks Greg had ever had in his life.

And while Greg was never one to kiss and tell, he was more than qualified to compare.

It wasn’t like it had been a particularly tough case. It was just that, between close to two hundred witnesses, and then Nick’s car getting stolen with all their evidence inside while they were at the diner for a quick caffeine refuel, and then waiting on the IAB pricks, _and then_ getting interviewed by said pricks, and, well, that last one had just been the icing on the proverbial cake.

So after a few drinks at the bar and then a lot more at Nick’s, they ended up horizontal. The fun way. And hey, Greg’s not complaining. This job, with its weird hours, didn’t leave them with many options for romance. At least not in the way that counts. Greg will take sex however he can get.

He had honestly thought it would just be a one-time thing. So the morning after, he took his shower, took his coffee and breakfast, and finally took leave from Nick with a ‘It was fun, see you at work’ kiss. Then he’d gone home and slept till his alarm buzzed four hours later, two hours before he had to clock into work.

And it was fine. It was easy. It was business as usual; they’d gone about their cases without tiptoeing around each other, teased and joked and flirted with zero awkwardness. Things were nice.

Then things got even nicer when they fucked for the second time (after a serial child molester), third time (college shooting spree, killing 13), fourth (home invasion with two kids and baby), and fifth and sixth and then Greg just stopped counting after the sixth, because after the sixth Greg’s toothbrush was in the toothbrush holder, his towel was hanging next to Nick’s in the shower, and he had a drawer with three sets of work clothes and two sets of pajamas in Nick’s dresser next to the standing mirror. Though he didn’t know who he had been kidding with the pajamas, he knew they would never get any use.

If anyone had asked Greg, he would have said that the arrangement was purely for practicality. Nick’s house was closer to the lab, it was closer to the bar. Given their propensity for horniness after work (go figure) and-slash-or after drinks, it had been the obvious choice. So the first time Nick had mentioned it, Greg had thought about it for all of five seconds (three of which he had been pleasantly distracted by Nick’s tongue doing swirly things on the patch of skin between neck and collarbone) and said okay. And then the next morning found a brand new toothbrush sitting in its box on the bathroom counter, just like that. Greg had brought his clothes and his extra hair stuff the very next day.

And just like that, they’re hitting the eight-month mark. To be honest, Greg had never thought they would. It's not that Greg’s a pessimist – he’s normally more of a glass filled to the brim, always and forever kind of guy – but he never once thought they’d be doing this for eight months. To be very honest, he never thought they’d even have lasted for two. But they crept by, first the days, then the weeks, and then before he knew it, he was eight months into this thing with Nick. Eight months of fantastic sex and bad takeout and worse home cooking (Greg’s) which brought them back to square takeout except when Nick had the energy to cook (nearly always). Eight months of fighting over the remote for the TV (they were tied so far) and whose turn it was to take out the trash (usually Greg’s) and snoring (that was definitely Nick).

Eight months of Greg trying to figure out how to tell Nick that he was in love with him and ask Nick if he felt the same and if he did (and Greg was hinging on yes, because come on, _eight months_ ). If he did then could they perhaps maybe very quickly consider telling their friends and families about them. Because Greg’s been paying the rent on an apartment that’s empty four nights a week for eight months now and turning down invitations from his friends for parties and driving his own car to work even though he and Nick leave at the same time from the same place most days. Parties aside, Greg could really save a lot of money if they were in love with each other.

“Theoretically,” he mumbled.

“You say something, Sanders?” Warrick’s voice cut through the stillness of the night and it was just this side of strange, considering they were processing a scene for a gruesome murder-suicide. With the amount of blood on the scene and the number of bodies they’d recovered, it felt like they should still be hearing screaming. Or at least echoes of it.

“Greg?”

Greg jumped. “Nothing, Warrick. I was talking to myself.”

Warrick gave him a look. “You were.”

Greg shot him a dazzling grin. “Yeah well. It’s part of my charm.” He started packing up his kit. “So what are you doing after shift?”

Warrick shrugged. “Nothing much. A double date with Nick.” He rolled his eyes when Greg dropped a (thankfully bagged and tagged) swab. “Still a klutz, Sanders.”

Greg laughed nervously and stuffed the Ziploc bag in his case. “Double date, you say?”

“Yeah, Tina had been bugging me about getting Nick out to dinner with one of her friends. Blonde, leggy, the works. I ended up giving her Nick's number to call him herself just to shut her up.”

“Oh. I thought Nick was,” Greg swallowed. “I thought he was seeing someone?” He asked.

Warrick frowned. “Yeah I thought so too. But when I brought it up today he said he was coming so I guess we were wrong.” He shrugged. “I could have sworn he was though. He hadn’t really been up for game night or pool lately, when I asked.”

“Huh.” Greg said. “I see.”

Except he really didn’t. Because he thought they had had a good thing going there, Nick and him, but apparently he had been the only one on that particular feel good train. Come to think of it, Nick had never said anything about being exclusive. Never talked about commitment. They shared a part of their lives by pseudo-living together, but they had never even discussed giving Greg the keys to his house. Greg either rang the doorbell or went over with Nick. Nick had never mentioned love, ever. Never held doors open or brought him breakfast in bed or given him anything and screw masculinity norms, Greg is a romantic, okay. He thought Nick was, too. And Nick probably is. Just not with Greg.

And while he knew very well that Nick had issues with trust (Greg would be surprised if he didn’t, what with all he’d been through in the past three years), there had been cuddling. A lot of cuddling. Greg was already mourning the cuddling.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Greg banged his head against his locker for punctuation. He had Warrick to thank for stopping him before he made a complete fool of himself. Telling Nick about his feelings, really Greg? He'd always had bad judgment when it came to these things, but this took the cake plus all the fucking cherries on top.

“Stupid.” He banged some more. When a chuckle sounded behind him, he just screwed his eyes tighter. Because of course.

“Trying to ruin your pretty head, G?”

Greg was feeling very betrayed by his fluttering stomach and pounding heart. “Go away, Nick, I’m trying to kill myself.”

Nick just laughed some more and then there was a fleeting touch on his back for a couple of seconds before it was gone. “Spare me the details. Hey, I’ll be out tonight, but we’re still on for tomorrow night, right?”

Right. They’re both off for the next two nights and Nick had made plans with Greg. No, correction, he had told Greg his plans. There had been something about a movie and a dinner that could have been pizza, Greg wasn’t quite sure since he hadn’t really been paying attention. Not that he could be blamed. What with a naked Nick lying half on top of him and trying his best to, what had he been trying to do even, kiss his ear into submission? in between whispering said plans, Greg never stood a chance.

“Huh?” He managed. He wanted to nod. He really wanted to nod. But Warrick’s words were still ringing in his ears, so he turned it into a shake instead. “I, uh. I made plans.” He tried to dredge up one of his shit-eating grins. “Sorry, Nick.”

“Okay,” Nick said slowly.

There was a flash of hurt that was gone in an instant, but Greg caught it. He really should patent those grins, he thought, a little smugly. This new streak of vindictiveness wasn't too bad either.

“Yeah. Anyway. I should go. Have fun on your date tonight!” He called over his shoulder as he hightailed it out of the locker room.

He didn’t catch Nick’s “Wait, what?” and the bewildered, confused expression on his face.

 

***

 

If pressed and under duress, Greg would maybe admit that he spent the night glum and moping. But to anyone who asks, he had a great time scarfing down junk food and guzzling beer in front of a _Breakfast Club_ rerun on TV.

If he shed any tears, it’s because that movie was moving, okay.

 

***

 

“Greg.”

Greg was feeling very pleased with how he hadn’t flinched until there was a hand on his shoulder and he did.

“Greg, we need to talk.”

With a deep breath, Greg turned around, coffee in hand and smile on face. “Talk, Nick? What about?”

“Greg, there you are. You’re with Catherine tonight.”

Honestly, Greg will be forever grateful to their antisocial, bug-loving boss for his excellent sense of timing.

Draining his mug, Greg set it down in the sink then sent Nick an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Nick. I’ll see you later.”

Except there was no later because once Greg got back from the scene and finished all the requisite evidence processing, he had showered in record time and sped home and then very firmly turned his phone to silent. He wasn’t avoiding Nick. He just needed some well-deserved rest. Which he wouldn’t get if he’d picked up any of Nick’s five calls or returned any of the twelve texts since they’d be having sex if he did.

He deleted the voicemails in the morning.

Not that he should have bothered, because Nick had ended up getting stuck on a monster of a case with Sara and Grissom and Warrick. A case which, even with four CSIs, had taken four straight nights to process and crack. Greg furtively sent up a quick guilty thank you to whichever god it was that puppeteered horrifying serial murderers.

And then Greg and Catherine and Warrick (after the mandatory two days off) had been saddled with a high profile bank robbery, and that took them nearly the same amount of time as the serials.

Greg had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from asking Warrick about the double date the whole time they were working the vault together. He had spent the rest of the night gargling salt water.

All in all, it was nearly two weeks before the team had been able to see each other again. Before Greg saw Nick again, cheeks gaunt and eyes smudged with dark circles. And damn did Greg want to just tell Nick to go to bed and sleep for a week, or better yet, put him to bed himself because Nick was stubborn and never listened to anyone’s advice even when it’s good for him. Especially when it’s good for him. Given that they were squeezed into a booth at the diner with the rest of the team, though, it felt too intimate and inappropriate.

“I’m gay.”

That, too, was intimate and inappropriate – wait, what?

Greg swung his head around and stared at Nick in shock. So did Grissom and Sara and Catherine. Warrick continued eating his waffles serenely as though Nick had merely commented on the (actually very lovely) morning weather.

“What?” That was Catherine.

Nick shrugged. “I’m gay. Just thought I’d mention it.”

“Just thought you’d mention-” Sara sputtered and took a sip of coffee before continuing. “What.”

“When did you know?” Grissom, always the curious one.

“About the time Greg and I got together.”

“ _Greg_?” That was both Catherine and Sara and really, this was not at all how Greg had envisioned coming out to their colleagues would be. He was now the center of attention and he didn’t, couldn’t-

“Um,” he said eloquently. Next to him, he could have sworn Warrick was laughing into his coffee.

“We’ve been living together for eight months now.” Nick was still going on and Greg was glaring furiously in an attempt to get Nick to shut up. It wasn’t working. Because apparently Nick was now taking questions from the floor, which had swung very quickly from complete shock to general inquisitiveness – “No, Greg never really shuts up” “He can’t cook worth anything” “He sings along to the country radio sometimes” – and really, if a hole could just open up and swallow Greg right now, thank you very much, because that last one was mortifying.

“It’s just that one song and it’s Nick’s fault for singing it all the time,” Greg accused, before cringing because that had not been what he had meant to say, at all.

“And we’re not together. We were fucking, that’s all.” That was better. Greg thought he didn’t sound too bitter, but he wasn’t entirely sure about that. Especially when the booth immediately went awkward, tense, then silent.

Warrick cleared his throat. “I should get going.” He stood and threw a few bills onto the table. “Guys?”

Grissom and Sara exchanged a look before they too stood and followed suit. Catherine patted Greg on the arm before she left, which did absolutely nothing for his frayed nerves.

“I, uh.” He could feel Nick’s eyes on him, so he kept his head down and reached into his pocket. “I should-” Greg fumbled with his wallet before he gave up, sighing. “We should talk.”

He steeled himself before he looked up. It didn’t help. Greg blamed Nick’s eyes.

 

***

 

Nick was waiting in the driveway when Greg pulled in behind the Denali. Silently, he followed Nick into the house, glad when Nick didn’t stop until they were in the kitchen. It was the only place they hadn’t fucked. Greg had boundaries, after all, and casual-fucking a guy in his kitchen, where food and coffee is prepared was definitely crossing the line.

Nick still had his back to Greg. He watched as Nick braced himself against the stove, muscles flexing under his shirt and Greg mentally smacked himself for the traitorous flood of want.

“Eight months, G.”

“Um.”

“We’ve been living together for eight months,” Nick said. “But I guess to you it was just _fucking_.”

The last word was spat and ooh Greg had never seen this side of Nick before. Angry Nick was hot. He smacked himself again.

“Nick, look-”

Nick didn’t miss a beat. “I should have expected it. I mean, you never talked about us. You never talked about committing. You never made the first move.”

“I never what?” Greg started to feel a weird mix of confusion and rage.

“I mean, for all I know, you were seeing other people this whole time.” Nick turned around to face Greg, smile cold and eyes hard. “Were you fucking other people this whole time, Greg?”

Oh no he did not just. “Was I fucking other people, Nick? Was I fucking other people? You’re one to talk.” Ignoring Nick’s frown, he went on. “Why don’t you tell me about the other night? You didn’t think I would find out, did you?” Greg clenched his fists in an attempt to stop the shaking. It didn’t really work.

“What?”

“Oh stop pretending, Stokes. Always acting like you’re the nice guy. How did it feel to be fucking a woman again? No need for lube or forty minutes of just making sure she doesn’t get hurt when you finally fuck her, must have felt good, huh?”

“What are you talking about, Greg?”

“I’m talking about the double date you went on with Warrick!” Greg burst out. His chest was heaving and for a moment he thinks that he had never been this angry in his life.

“Are you talking about dinner with Tina and Sam?” Nick looked honestly confused now and despite being this furious, Greg still had the presence of mind to admit that the little groove in the middle of his forehead was really cute.

Greg rolled his eyes. “Thanks for telling me her name because I so needed to know.”

Nick’s stance shifted. “Greg, Sam’s my cousin. She’d just come up here from Texas to work at the same hospital Tina was so we decided to get dinner.”

Greg gave a snort of disbelief. “Cousin, sure. Pull the other one.”

“G, I don’t know what Warrick told you, but I swear to you, Sammy’s my cousin.” He dug out his phone. “Look, I’ll call her if you want and you can ask her yourself.”

Greg stared at Nick suspiciously until the latter rolled his eyes and made to start dialing.

“Wait!”

Nick’s fingers stilled and he looked up at Greg.

“Fine, I believe you,” he conceded, only slightly reluctant. “But that doesn’t change a thing. This,” Greg gestured between Nick and himself. “This thing we’re doing, I don’t know what it is to you but I thought we had a good thing going. Guess I thought wrong,” he finished, bitter.

“What did you think, Greg?” Nick asked carefully.

“I have my hair stuff and my favorite Marilyn Manson shirt here, you tell me.” Greg sighed. “Look, Nick, I thought I was okay with what we were doing, but I didn’t think I would fall in love with you.” He raised his hands to stop Nick from interrupting, looking anywhere but at Nick.

“It’s okay, I’m not expecting anything. But I don’t think I can do this anymore. So I’m just gonna-” Greg swallowed the lump in his throat and made himself go on. “I’m just gonna grab my stuff and go home.”

Shoulders slumped in defeat, he finally met Nick’s eyes. “And we never have to speak about this ever again.”

Greg turned to leave the kitchen, but was stopped first by a hand on his arm, then strong arms around his waist, then Nick’s voice.

“I never thought-” Nick’s voice sounded choked and hoarse. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“You never asked to come over,” Nick continued. “You never asked me to come over either. Each time I asked you out for drinks or whatever, G, I was nervous as hell. And each time you said yes, I’d think to myself maybe, just maybe, I could tell you how I felt.”

Greg started to speak but the arms tightened around him and he fell silent.

“But then I’d look at you and see how amazing you are and I’d think hell, you’d never feel this way about me and I’d chicken out.”

Greg hastily blinked back the prickling in his eyes. “You-” He cleared his throat to get rid of the thickness. “Imagine what we’d achieve if we only talked to each other.” He could feel Nick’s chuckle against his back and turned around.

Nick’s eyes were liquid and soft and beautiful, so before his brain could come up with anymore cheesy adjectives, he kissed Nick. When Nick’s mouth opened under his, he wound his arms around broad shoulders and tangled his fingers in the hair at his nape, anchoring himself. They kissed feverishly until they ran out of breath, and then Nick was pressing kisses along his cheek down his jaw and to his neck and sucking a bruise onto his collarbone, making Greg shiver and laugh breathlessly.

A thigh came to slip solidly between Greg’s legs so he canted his hips forward, lining up their cocks side by side. Not that they could get much friction through their jeans. Greg mentally praised the industrious fingers that were already working at his fly, grabbing Nick’s face and pressing a hard kiss on his lips when his jeans were pushed down to his calves. He gasped when Nick’s hand cupped his crotch through his boxers, rolling his hips into it for more, his hands flying to Nick’s waist for support.

Nick was still rubbing him and it felt so good, he didn’t want Nick to feel left out so he slid his hands up under Nick’s shirt, scratching lightly at bare skin. Nick pulled away with a soft groan, reaching behind him to grab the shirt and wrenching it over his head and doing the same to Greg’s. Once they were skin to skin, Greg pressed up against Nick again. In between kisses, he panted, “Nick, Nick, I think we, oh-” Nick had moved down to tongue at a nipple, fingers pulling lightly at the soft hairs at Greg’s navel and Greg moaned. “This is your kitchen, Nick. We shouldn’t.”

Nick ignored him, his hand moving down Greg’s back to massage his ass. Greg moaned again, louder this time, clenching his muscles in time to Nick’s kneading. His cock was pushing desperately against his boxers, and he didn’t think Nick was feeling too comfortable with his jeans still on. As if he’d read Greg’s mind, Nick reached down with a hand to undo his jeans and stepped out of his underpants, pulling Greg’s boxers down almost as an afterthought. Taking both their cocks in one hand, Nick pumped them with slow, firm strokes, making Greg’s back bow forward with a helpless groan. Leaning his forehead on Nick’s shoulder, he pressed wet, messy kisses on his neck, on his collarbone, over his throbbing pulse.

Nick was breathing harshly, his whole body straining toward Greg, one arm locked around his waist. He nudged Greg’s chin until Greg looked up and covered Greg’s mouth with a forceful kiss, thrusting his tongue inside and sweeping across Greg’s teeth, gums, the roof of his mouth. The hand holding their cocks never stopped pumping and Greg moved backward until he could feel the edge of the counter on his lower back. Nick followed, still kissing him fiercely. Greg was close, so close, so he brought a hand down to join Nick’s and oh, he’s going to have one hell of a bruise on his back tomorrow but fuck if he cared. He ran a thumb over the head of Nick’s cock and that was all it took before Nick bucked his hips twice, driving Greg into the counter. The combination of the pain and the wetness on his stomach drove Greg over the edge. Eyes screwed tightly shut, he hung onto Nick for dear life.

Going boneless, Nick slumped over him, making Greg’s back give a twinge of protest. He pushed back against Nick a few times before Nick reluctantly straightened, only to rest his chin on Greg’s shoulders. Eyes still closed, he reached blindly for a dishcloth and wiped at their stomachs.

Grimacing, Greg said, “Nick, that’s disgusting.”

“Don’t care,” Nick mumbled.

Greg couldn’t help it, he laughed. “I can’t believe we just fucked in your kitchen.”

“Hmm,” Nick replied. “Our kitchen.” He must have felt Greg stiffen, but he just tightened his arms around Greg and nuzzled into his neck. Nick’s stubble was prickly. “I’m not letting you leave.”

Slowly, Greg relaxed into Nick’s embrace, his hands caressing Nick’s back. “Guess I’ll have to go get the rest of my stuff then. And, uh, call the landlord about my lease?”

He could feel Nick grinning into his skin. “Guess so.”

The smugness in his voice was almost unbearable and Greg really wanted to giggle. He held it in manfully. “I’ll need to borrow your key, though. I mean. I don’t want to bother you while I come in and out, moving my stuff.”

Nick shifted, but only so he could lean more comfortably against Greg. “Your key’s in my jeans.”

The giggle escaped anyway, high and shaky. “My key?”

Nick nodded. “Been wondering how to give it to you for months.” He pressed a kiss into Greg’s shoulder and straightened. Disentangling himself from Greg, he reached for his discarded jeans and pulled out a key ring from the pocket.

Greg stared as Nick took hold of his hand and placed the keys in the palm of his hand, closing his fingers over them. Months, Nick had said.

“Yours, G. If you want them.”

The keys took some time to warm to the heat of Greg’s hand. They felt symbolic, somehow. He looked down at them, then at Nick, then back at them again. “Well, since we’re naked in your kitchen," he put extra emphasis on that last word, "I guess I should keep them.”

Greg grinned when Nick laughed. It was a nice sound. Nick had a nice laugh. And nice strong arms that are back around his waist. A nice back too, Greg mused, when Nick’s muscles shifted to Greg’s soft touches, and nice abs. In fact, everything about Nick was nice. Even the loud rumbling of his empty stomach.

He could feel Nick’s cheek heating up against his. “Make-up sex burns more calories than I thought,” Nick murmured into his ear, an embarrassed smile in his voice. 

Greg couldn’t help it, he chuckled. Yeah, things were nice indeed.


End file.
